


In Flagrante Delicto

by JennaSaisQuoi (ScarletTyler)



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Exhibitionism, False Accusations, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-13 23:50:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11196045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletTyler/pseuds/JennaSaisQuoi
Summary: Bard helps Thranduil shop for a pair of jeans that may just be a bit too tight for him. A busted zipper and a tumble down the floor later, the couple find themselves accused of shagging inside the fitting room by an irritable salesclerk who won't listen to rhyme or reason.





	In Flagrante Delicto

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to _drappersky_ for this amazing **[art](https://drappersky.tumblr.com/post/161858685003/made-for-the-barduil-mini-bang-this-drawing-is-a)**. Please check it out first before reading! Hope you'd like it as much as I do  <3
> 
> EDIT: Another awesome **[art](http://homeiswheretheheartsare.tumblr.com/post/161958392000/barduil-mini-bang-art-for-jennasaisqu0is-in)** for this fic by _homeiswheretheheartsare_ :D

"Thran?"

"In here."

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen _bloody_ minutes had passed since Thranduil went on his merry way to the fitting rooms with an armload of trousers, throwing an _'I'll meet you at the counter'_ over his shoulder like it was nothing but an afterthought. Bard should have known better. His mobile beeped a couple of minutes ago and confirmed his suspicion: they would not be leaving the shop any time soon. Clutching a box of ties for Bain, he swept past a row of changing stalls with a pair of jeans hooked over his other arm.

"Did they have the next size down?"

"Of course, they do," answered Bard as he knocked on the only door framed by fluorescent light along its edges. "The question is, would you be able to squeeze yourself into these?" The lock clicked, and the door swung open, revealing his husband's long-perfected snooty glare aimed straight at him.

"Because of that, I won't be modeling these for you," Thranduil chided while inspecting the proffered jeans. "And they are going to be much tighter." Long, blond hair swished down his back as he sashayed towards the large mirror standing at the corner.

In Bard's opinion, the pair Thranduil had on were already doing wonders for his smack-worthy arse. He kept this to himself, however. Despite the dismissal, he knew his husband could never resist showing off to him, and _man_ , wouldn't that be quite a sight. Chuckling under his breath, he grabbed the pile that failed scrutiny and stepped out into the corridor. Down a wooden stool for the weary spouses, he perched and cradled the rejected trousers on his lap. _'Where's the salesclerk when you actually need them?'_

The muffled sound of shuffling fabric kept him from dissolving to complete silence. With nothing else to do, he took out his mobile from his pocket and went through the notifications.

A forwarded email from Legolas about an ad for some new archery equipment. . .

A couple of new Instagram followers he didn't even recognize. . .

A series of tweets and replies from the kiddos. . .

Tapping on the last one, he learned that the whole family was caught in the crossfire between Sigrid and Tilda. Apparently, the girls had been debating whether or not dragons would make good pets. A harmless and hypothetical discussion, yes. But watching again that show unsupervised? A thing of the past from now on, Bard decided as he replied with an emphatic 'NO.'

**BANG!**

Bard shot up from his seat, paying no heed to the clothes now littering the floor. "Thran?" He knocked on the door again, growing more worried by the second. "Everything okay in there?"

". . . I'm fine."

Thranduil's voice sounded a bit strained, but it didn't seem like he was in pain. More like frustrated, Bard observed. Then, realization dawned upon him. Pressing his ear against the laminated wood, he could almost picture the scene inside. "You're stuck, aren't you?"

Silence. Bard smothered a laugh with the back of his hand before trying again. "C'mon, love."

"I'm fine," insisted Thranduil, punctuated by another thud albeit softer this time.

"I won't laugh." A second later, Bard shrugged his shoulders and amended his promise. "Well, I'll laugh, but I won't tell the kids."

"For the record," Thranduil began, sounding a little out of breath, "they fit me. Quite well, actually. It's. . . ugh. This stupid zipper won't budge down."

"D'you want me to help you?"

His question hung unanswered in the air for a beat. ". . . No."

Sighing, Bard pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do you _need_ me to help you?"

"Yes, please," Thranduil admitted as he unlocked the door.

Stepping inside the stall, Bard realized the space wasn't designed to accommodate two men of their size. Thranduil didn't seem to mind though; standing with both arms akimbo in the middle of the room, wearing the tightest jeans he had ever worn. The gray wash denim stretched over his thighs, his hips. . . his bulge. It's downright obscene and tempting and—  _'Get a grip, Bowman! You're not some bloody teenager.'_

Clearing his throat, Bard shifted his focus back on the problem at hand. "Let me," he offered as his husband attempted to force down the zipper again. Bottom lip caught between his teeth, Bard tugged at the metal tab sideways, then up and down until it slid open without any more protest. In the process, his fingers grazed Thranduil's groin, earning him an appreciative moan.

"Really?" Bard snickered though he refused to let on that his mind was in the gutter too.

Cheeky as ever, Thranduil grinned and winked back as he tried to shimmy his way out of the jeans. The grin vanished, however, along with the apparent relief on his face. "Oh, no."

"What now?"

"It's stuck."

Bard crossed his arms over his chest and tutted at this not-really-unexpected turn. "Remind me again why we're in this mess."

"Because you love me, and you'd do anything for me?" a pink-faced Thranduil deflected. "You really shouldn't have brought me this pair."

All true, Bard conceded but only to himself. He wouldn't let this one slide over some technicality. "Try again."

Rolling his eyes, Thranduil threw his hands up in frustration. "Because I'm vain, and you're horny."

"That's not—" Bard countered, only to be silenced by a finger over his lips.

"We've been together for over five years now," Thranduil stressed. "It's flattering—don't get me wrong—but can we _please_ postpone the banter until I regained circulation in my legs?"

"Right. Uhmm. . . " Bard racked his brain for a solution and found one right outside the stall. Grabbing the wooden stool, he set it against the back wall for added support. "Sit." The denim squeaked in distress with every step Thranduil made.

Kneeling between the legs, Bard hooked his fingers on the waistband. "Arch up." Thranduil complied without another word. The jeans loosened up a bit, enough for Bard to get a more secure hold. Inch by inch, he tugged them down as his lips pressed together in a hard line. After one particularly strong yank, the couple let out a little cheer when the jeans slid down to the thighs. Gesturing for Thranduil to ease back into the stool, Bard wiped off a bead of sweat on his temple. "Never thought I'd ever find something to complain about the length of your limbs."

Thranduil got the nerve to chuckle back at him, mumbling something about ridiculous misadventures. Bard missed the punchline though. Rolling down the jeans while moving backwards on his knees, he had almost freed Thranduil when the fabric bunched together around the ankles. Bard tapped into his impatience over this last hurdle, and so with a mighty pull, the denim finally gave in to his efforts. The victory was short-lived, however. Bard went tumbling back towards the wall; the bloody jeans still clutched in his hands.

Thranduil was up in a flash. He caught the mirror before it came crashing down the floor—or worse, on Bard. And though it may not have shattered, the resulting commotion was enough to make them both wince. Setting the mirror upright again, he breathed out a sigh in relief. "Are you all right?"

Bard was about to reassure his husband when the door burst open.

"What the—" A salesclerk, judging by her uniform, appeared out of nowhere. Gaping at them from the door, her eyes almost popped out of her head as she took in the sight before her: a half-dressed man hovering over another man, fully dressed but soaked in sweat. "Please tell me you're not shagging in here."

Thranduil recovered himself faster, standing up as he extended a hand to Bard. "No, we're not," he answered, going for calm and collected but ended up sounding haughty and defensive instead.

"D'you think this is the first time I've caught the likes of you?"

Rubbing a sore palm with his thumb, Bard intervened to placate her. "Listen, we're—"

"Tell that to security," the salesclerk snapped, cutting off the rest of his words.

With furrowed brows, Bard turned to Thranduil, who responded by cocking his head towards the incensed woman before them. "What?" he mouthed back, unable to follow even when his husband repeated the gesture. Only when Thranduil discreetly rubbed his thumb against his forefinger and middle finger did Bard understand what he meant. Responding with a furtive shake of his head, he refused to bribe their way out of here for that could only get them into more trouble.

Sure enough, the salesclerk witnessed the whole exchange. "You're both old enough to know better."

Thranduil opened his mouth for another attempt to reclaim their honor, but the stubborn jut of the woman's jaw told Bard it would be all for naught. Pulling his husband to one corner, he whispered, "It's useless, Thran. Let's just sort it out with security, okay?"

"Or get her fired for this," Thranduil hissed back. "I will speak to her manager, and we'll see—"

"Okay, we'll do that after." Bard didn't actually agree with this plan, but there was no reasoning with Thranduil whenever he got into one of his moods. "But first, let's get you back into your trousers."

Walking past the salesclerk who was glaring at them like some vengeful ghost, Bard squatted down to rummage the pile of clothes on the floor. Thranduil, irritated as he was, picked up the nearest pair and put them on without so much as a blink. Bard didn't even get the chance to correct him.

Ever vigilant, the woman eyed the tags still hanging on the belt loop. "Are you going to buy those? Or should I add shoplifting to the charges?"

Thranduil's vexed mask didn't crack even when hammered with one gaffe after another. Bard, on the other hand, was a jangling bag of nerves at this point. He reached for the card in his wallet, snatched the box of ties off the floor, and yanked the bloody tags from the back of the jeans. "If you could just ring these up for us, that would be great," he managed to say, forcing out a smile to sweeten his request.

The woman's expression lightened up a bit as she accepted the items. "I'll be right back to escort you both to the backroom."  She waited until Bard acknowledged her with a nod, pissing off Thranduil even further.

"Didn't you hear me?" Bard demanded when they were left alone again. "Why didn't you just put on—" Spotting the right pair, he bent down with a huff and picked them off the floor. "—these?"

Thranduil squared his shoulders, choosing to remain unapologetic. "I was going to buy this pair, too." Then, he turned around and slipped his hands into the back pockets. "I think they look good on me."

Bard took his fill of the way this new pair hugged Thranduil's arse—clingy, but thank god, not as clingy as the one before. "Yeah, they do," he admitted, trying to sound casual. There's a time and place for all his naughty thoughts. This was neither. "Are they comfortable though? Who knows how long they'd keep us here." Folding Thranduil's jeans into a small bundle, he muttered, "It's not like our dicks were out. I mean—"

"We should've just flashed her instead. Save us the trouble of explaining ourselves."

Along the waistband, a couple more tags swung from side to side. "I know you're kidding," Bard said, grabbing Thranduil's hips to keep him still. "But that would only guarantee us a spot on their 'Watch Out for These Pervs poster’." Dipping a hand inside the jeans, he fumbled for the little plastic string that held the tags. Couldn't just yank them off again now that they had bought these too. After all, Thranduil had a habit of 'giving away'—or rather, disposing—their clothes for even the smallest of tears.

A frustrated shriek down the hall made him jump out of his skin. The salesclerk stomped her way back to them, more furious than ever. "I was gone for a minute, and you're at it again?!"

"Now, you're just being overly prude," Thranduil sneered with a withering look.

"Am I?!" she fired back while handing over the credit card and shopping bag to Bard.

"Look," Bard gave a furtive glance at the nametag pinned on her chest. "Amanda. This is just one big misunderstanding. Couldn't you just let us off with a warning?"

"I was thinking about it," Amanda replied. "But after that little stunt? I don't think so, Mr. Bowman." She crossed her arms over her chest, nose turned up at them. "We're making an example out of you two. This isn't some bloody sex club."

Thranduil, in his infinite wisdom, refused to back down. "Dim the lights, add tons of neon signs, and no one could even tell the difference."

When the salesclerk rolled her eyes in exasperation, Bard knew they had really done it this time. He could practically feel their last chance to salvage the situation slipping through his fingers.

"Follow me," Amanda said before stalking away from them.

Bard swallowed his pride and trailed behind with his husband in tow. The stubborn blond tried to stay rooted on his spot by the door, but Bard was having none of it anymore. On their way to the backroom, he kept his gaze straight in case they happen to pass by anyone they knew. He tried to ignore the other shoppers watching their little parade, but it grew harder and harder with each step. Indignation stirred in his belly, and it gradually replaced the embarrassment coiled around his chest. Thranduil turned to him, surveying his expression with a curious glint in his eyes. Only then did Bard notice that his grip on his husband's hand had turned his knuckles white. He muttered a quick apology as they entered a tiny, windowless office that appeared to double as a stockroom of sorts. Stacks of boxes in one corner. Unused hangers on the other. A solitary desk stood by the wall, cluttered with pens and paper clips and the odd ball of rubber bands. After years of sharing a home with the man beside him, Bard was certain Thranduil's left eye would be twitching at any moment. If the store hadn't lost Thranduil as a customer yet over the fitting room incident, well, they sure as hell did now.

"Mind the boxes—" Amanda visibly flinched when her gaze landed on Thranduil. "We're, uh, we're working on it."

 _'Ah, the power of the twitch,'_ thought Bard with some satisfaction. He had been on its receiving end when they first started dating, and it was unnerving, to say the least.

The salesclerk looked at anywhere but them as she grabbed the doorknob like a lifeline. "My manager will be back soon from lunch. So, uhmmm. . . stay here for now." Without waiting for a response, she then bid a hasty exit, banging the door shut.

There wasn't any lock on the door, but Bard knew better than to make a break for it. Instead, he sank down the swivel chair and rubbed his palms over his face. When he looked up, indignation flared up in his chest over the sight of Thranduil's stiff shoulders and clenched fists. An unwanted yet understandable reaction, given the afternoon they were having. First, an unjustified accusation. Then, a detainment in this bedlam. _'I should probably do some damage control in case he decides to burn this place down.'_   He searched his mind for something, anything, to say when Thranduil faced him with a dangerous smirk playing on his lips. _'Ah, too late.'_

"Let's earn our punishment." It wasn't an offer; more like an order.

"What?"

Gliding towards him in a languid pace, Thranduil towered over him between his legs. "You heard me."

Of course, he did. And so did his cock. "Here?"

"If we're going down for this, then might as well enjoy the fall." Hands bracing on the back of the chair, Thranduil nuzzled at the sensitive spot on his neck, warm breath ghosting the shell of his ear. "I know your patience is running thin." When he didn't deny this, Thranduil trailed tiny pecks on his cheek until their lips pressed together. Soft and gentle, each kiss was a nice contrast to his husband's proposition.

The heady scent of lavender overwhelmed Bard's senses when a curtain of silver blond hair fanned down the sides of his face. Of course, Thranduil knew by experience how to push him over the edge, and their years together had left Bard vulnerable to such advances. Not that he's complaining. This just happened to be an uncharted territory—for him, at least. "Let's say you're right, and I'm on-board." A low, triumphant laugh met this almost-admission, but he ignored it. "How d'you plan to go about it?"

Thranduil didn't answer right away, going for another lingering kiss instead. Hands sneaked down the waistband, and when Bard pulled back for air, he noticed that both the button and zipper of his trousers were undone. In his distraction, Thranduil also managed to kneel before him, poised as ever. "Why don't I just show you instead?" Nails dragging up Bard's thighs, he cupped the growing bulge before releasing the hard cock into his waiting hands.

Before long, he was reminded that nothing would ever be as good Thranduil's mouth. It had all been nothing but a crazy idea up until now, but as he admired that crown of golden hair bobbing up and down, what they were doing finally got through to him. It may not be exactly how he had imagined it, back in the changing stall, but fuck—

_'This is actually happening.'_

_'We are really doing it.'_

_'Bloody fucking hell.'_

A spark lit up at the base of his spine. The rush of adrenaline in his veins. The possibility of being caught. The thrill of doing something new. It's all too much that he couldn't bite down the long, artless moan from escaping his lips.

Thranduil let go of his cock with an obscene pop though fingers kept toying with his balls. "Keep it together, babe. You don't want 'em busting in here, and see us _in flagrante delicto."_

Hips arching up from his husband's ministrations, Bard tried to voice his agreement, but an untimely yet incredibly gratifying flick to his balls turned it into a gasp that sounded a little too loud even to his own ears.

"Or do you?" Thranduil teased, quirking up an eyebrow over the reaction he got.

Bard's defense fell on deaf ears, however, when Thranduil turned his attention back to his cock, sucking him harder, fist tight below those perfect lips. Grunting his appreciation, he suppressed every sound he made with the back of his hand. His other hand found its way into those golden silky locks, now damp but still felt heavenly beneath his fingertips. The heat of the room was getting to him too—suffocating him with the potent scent of sex and sweat. He threw his head back and shut his eyes, drowning himself in sensations that robbed him of his breath. Every wet sound from that talented mouth accompanied perfectly his ascent to ecstasy. He couldn't focus on anything but Thranduil, Thranduil, _Thranduil—_

His whole body trembled as a guttural curse signaled his climax. Thranduil swallowed everything and milked him some more, careful not to waste a single drop. Boneless and lightheaded, Bard sagged against the back of the chair. Relief blended in with the satisfaction rolling out in waves across his body. They'd done it. They had actually done it.

_'But, wait. . .'_

With a smug grin plastered on his face, Thranduil tucked Bard's cock back in his pants. They were not yet done. Not if Bard could help it. Cupping both flushed cheeks between his palms, Bard pushed his tongue past the luscious, swollen lips and tasted himself, combined with that intoxicating flavor that's unique to Thranduil. Hot breaths and eager tongues, the kiss was rough and messy but it's the kind that could always make his lover tremble with desire.

"Hurry up," Bard said when they broke apart.

"Careful now," Thranduil warned, breathless and unable to keep his knees from buckling when he stood up. "I'm keeping this pair as a souvenir." As soon as the waistband was down the middle of his thighs, Bard wrapped a hand around his cock, already hard and leaking with pre-cum. Supporting himself with both arms against the wall, Thranduil pushed his hips forward and took in a steadying gulp of air.

Admiring the view above him, Bard brushed a thumb over the head and used the slickness he gathered to pump his hand up and down the length. He increased his speed, encouraged when Thranduil's mouth dropped open and those pale blue eyes fluttered close. He had marveled at that expression so many times before, and he knew what each subtle change meant. There was no doubt in his mind; he would catch Thranduil again when he let go and allowed utter bliss to take over.

Taking the cock in his mouth, Bard hollowed his cheeks and pressed his tongue against the underside, savoring the heavy weight for a moment. Thranduil's hip snapped forward without warning, and Bard felt the cock hitting the back of his throat. His hands grabbed hold of his lover's arse and squeezed them as a warning. He could still take it though. Thranduil knew he could take it. His lover knew his limits well.

Fingers tangled and pulled at his hair. Thranduil eased up for a bit before sliding back in and out, setting a rhythm that worked for both of them. Bard met him thrust after thrust, building up the momentum until all he could hear was a melody of faint, strangled moans. He was too focused on getting Thranduil off that he could not even give a shit about everything that could go wrong. Someone could come in right now—see them like this, see him getting face-fucked, see Thranduil's cock buried in his mouth. The mere thought of getting caught should be a powerful deterrent, but right now, it's only driving him closer to that feeling . . . to that irresistible _high_.

Thranduil was almost there, too. His rhythm was faltering. His gasps were growing louder—shameless and hot as hell. His grip on Bard's hair tightened. Bard swallowed him all the way down, moaning when every muscle in Thranduil's body pulled taut as he came hard. Bursts of bittersweet tang spilled down his throat, leaving a trail of heat down to his chest. He only pulled back when the cock started to soften in his mouth, licking his way up the shaft while locking gazes with his lover the whole time.

"Fuck." Thranduil jerked him up from his seat and devoured him in another intense kiss. The room felt like a furnace now but they couldn't care less. Bard let out a helpless chuckle. It's all too much but somehow not enough. Thranduil smiled back at him before showering him with more kisses to his cheeks, his nose—

Out of the blue, a knock on the door sobered them up in an instant. "Can you please open the door?" There's a man outside the room, most probably the manager. "Got my hands full."

Now that his mouth was not busy sucking off his husband, it turned out that Bard still gave a shit about being caught. He fumbled with his trousers as he watched Thranduil deal with his own jeans. The blond wincing as his still-sensitive cock got locked up in the tight denim again would have been an amusing sight, if not for their current situation. Another knock on the door kept him focused and grounded.

"Just a sec," Bard called out, gathering his damp hair into a bun. Following his lead, Thranduil finger-combed the tangles out of his hair and ended up styling it far better than humanly possible, proving yet again that his hair alone could be the eighth wonder of the world.

"Good?" Thranduil breathed, smoothing down his sweat-soaked shirt. 

Bard nodded as adrenaline combined with that warm buzz from having just fucked. He sucked in a breath and opened the door. A short man, trying—and failing—to clutch several items between his hands and chest, greeted him with a sheepish grin. On instinct, he reached out to help, catching a bottle of water as it slipped from the man's grasp.

"Oh, goodness. Thank you, thank you." Bard opened the door wider and stepped out of the way. Then, he tailed the man inside and handed over the bottle. "No, that's for you." The man offered another one to Thranduil, who accepted it without a word. "For your trouble. I, uh, I'm the manager here. James," he introduced himself with a grin that could also pass off as a grimace. "I'm very sorry about Amanda. I don't even know where to begin. Oh, god. And in this room? Look at you, all sweaty and flushed. Come, let's get you out of here."

The couple exchanged looks, bemused but eager to leave the scene of the crime. The blast of the AC welcomed them in a chilly yet uncomfortable embrace as they stepped outside the room. _'How long were we in there?'_

James cleared his throat and continued, "Again, please accept our sincerest apologies. We checked the tapes, and I saw with my own eyes that you did nothing wrong."

Bard's stomach dropped. Tapes? How did that slip his mind? Bloody CCTVs. _'Is there a camera in the backroom?'_ He couldn't remember for the love of everything holy, and he couldn't risk a question to Thranduil.

James must have noticed his reaction and inferred from there. "Oh, don't you worry. There are no cameras in the fitting rooms. Just along the hallway. Saw you enter the stall and to be honest, your stay there wasn't long enough to do anything. . . y'know, like what Amanda said. She's on the hunt for a promotion, but I'm afraid it all blew up in her face."

"Just as well, we won't be coming back here any time soon," Thranduil dismissed, appearing unfazed by the revelation. Next to him, Bard ignored the heavy thumping in his chest as he nodded his head.

Full-on grimacing at this point, James put up his hands in surrender. "Perhaps, I can change your minds. We'd reimburse your purchases, and—" He paused and presented to the couple the paper bags he was carrying earlier. "AND here's some store merchandise, and in there you'd each find several GCs, all transferable and redeemable at any of our branches nationwide."

Bard was already shaking his head in refusal when Thranduil spoke, "What about that girl? She had mistreated us."

An hour ago or so, they were innocent, but _now?_ Bard didn't have the face to return here even if James upped his offer with a lifetime get-anything-you-want-for-free card. Touching the small of Thranduil's back, he tried to pull off what any parent of four does best: brokering peace by offering a compromise. "Love," he began, emphasizing the word to play role of the reasonable husband to a T. "Don't you think it's enough that she wouldn't be getting that promotion? Besides, we could just shop at another branch, where you don't have to see her again. And we don't need these." To illustrate his point, he returned both paper bags to a speechless James. "Let's just chalk it all up as an unfortunate, learning experience." And get the hell out of here with our dignities intact, he concluded but only to himself.

Thankfully, Thranduil caught his drift and conceded to his point. James was curiously dismayed at this turn of events, but Bard couldn't care less. "Right. Well then," He pointed a thumb towards the exit, "we'll just go. Thanks for the water, James."

Sighing, the manager escorted them out with that grimace-for-a-grin fixed upon his face. "We hope you'd visit us again," he said with a touch of resignation in his voice. Under his breath, he muttered to Bard, "I don't know what Amanda was thinking. You two don't even look the type."

Thranduil's sharp hearing picked up the mumbled words. "What do you mean?" Bard nudged him with an elbow to the side. They really should stop bringing up this topic.

"Oh, you know." James shrugged his shoulders. "Shagging in a store where you could get caught with your pants down? You two seem smarter than that."

"Ah, yes," Thranduil said with his trademark smirk, and to Bard's ear, he whispered, "We're _definitely_ not the type to get caught."

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long time since I last wrote a PWP fic, but I wish you've enjoyed reading this :) Comments and kudos are both welcome and much appreciated!


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